This Year, the Willow

In April the tree was still so bare
From the kitchen window I watched it daily
Naked… spindly …..so easy to see through to the fence behind, the neighbor’s house.

I was wanting the fill-in to begin. From previous years I knew it would be
Dense, protective, enveloping. Bird haven. A sanctuary.  I was yearning.

My mother got very sick, then died.
Away for twelve days on the east coast
hospital room, funeral parlor, my sister’s spare room, a hotel.
The tree and everything else, forgotten.

Then home to CA in early May, back to the kitchen view.
Awareness renewed. The tree filling in now just as before.
Every day more leaves.
The changing of the greens; light to mid to dark.

June and July as dense and packed as a jungle tree.
Alarming new growth, leaning toward, reaching, stretching, brushing some windows, petting the house.

And yes, the birds, always and many, new species, abundance. We watched. We remarked. We marveled. We adored them. The tree called to them and they came

In August the leaves started to fall.
Already, I thought. Too soon. Was it August last year when this began? I don’t think so.

But they continued to drop. On the deck. On the table. Sweeping. Then sweeping again.
All the while, alarmed. Not wanting this disconnecting to be so. This can’t be correct, I keep thinking. Surely they were on the tree longer last year? Husband says no.

More sweeping with the deck and the table full again each day.

Why am I watching? Why am I hyper? Why do I want the leaves to stay on the tree?

The passage of time as marked by this willow has disturbed me this year like never before. I watch with melancholy and anxious awareness. I didn’t have enough time to savor the dense, dark, vital, packed, protective web of leaves that were there for what seems like a very short time this year.

 I miss my mother.